


Processing the Evidence

by RileyC



Category: Richard Jury - Martha Grimes
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:30:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A close call opens Melrose and Richard's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Processing the Evidence

_A screech of tires on rain-slick pavement. The revving of an engine, accelerating. Yelling Plant's name; launching himself when Plant didn't - couldn't - move fast enough, standing there frozen in the glare of headlamps cutting through the slashing, cold rain. Impact; his body crashing into Plant's; glasses flying, green eyes astonished as they smacked into the ground and rolled, and rolled, sprawling out at the bottom of the hill, in soft, wet grass and fallen leaves, Jury on top, both of them breathless. Eternity ticking by as they caught their breath, responded to Wiggins' anxious inquiries shouted down at them, police sirens wailing in the background…_

Rain pattered against the windows of Jury's Islington flat, the perfect accompaniment to the moody, mellowed with melancholia, strains of Miles Davis' Flamenco Sketches. Or should that be the other way around? Jury mused.

It should have been restful. If he could stop replaying things over and over in his head, dwelling on the what-ifs that hadn't happened, perhaps it might have been.

It had been another case, another not-quite-satisfying finish - turning potentially catastrophic in one unguarded moment. If Plant had taken one more step into the street. If Jury hadn't glanced back down the street. If Wiggins hadn't shouted. If…

He sighed; wanted to tell himself to stop being ridiculous, but doubted the admonishment would take.

When it was over - finally, completely, no other surprises lurking in the shadows over - Jury had seen Plant off on his return to Long Piddleton, experiencing a wistful twinge of envy. He was glad Plant had somewhere to go, of course. An hour at the Jack and Hammer, becoming ever more intricately embroiled in whatever scheme Trueblood and Diane were currently hatching, and any shadows lingering around Plant would be banished. If all else failed, there was Ardry End to retreat to: a blazing fire, and the undemanding companionship of Mindy. Jury begrudged him none of that. He only wished he could claim some similar destination as his own.

Jury could have gone with him.

The invitation, if unspoken, was there should Jury care to accept it, and excuses to Racer were easy enough to come by. He had imagined becoming irksome, though. His company akin to Agatha's, as he hovered and watched, all too abruptly made aware of Plant's mortality.

So instead, he retreated here, to the familiar, if uninspiring, comforts of his flat; to a solitude that chafed and left him restless, unable to settle down to anything.

The knock at the door gave him a start, and - imagining it was Carole-anne - Jury debated not answering. Except, when did Carole-anne ever knock?

A second, more persistent _rap-rap_ spurred Jury to action, and he opened the door to find … Plant.

Plant, a bit damp from rain, looking at him, nodding as though concluding some internal debate, and saying, “I didn't think you should be alone tonight.”

“I'm not the one who almost died,” Jury protested.

“No.” Plant pushed past him, gaze sweeping the room before coming back to Jury. “You could rest easy with your own brush with death,” he said, like a man suddenly in possession of a wise truth.

And. before Jury could reply, could argue or agree, Plant kissed him. Right there in the entryway, pressing Jury back against the closed door, hands sliding up his face and into his hair, holding Jury there and kissing him as though this was the most vitally important thing he would ever do - kissed him urgently, tenderly, all at once, sharing wisdom in this touch and taste of lips

“Either of us could have died,” Plant murmured against Jury's ear, holding him, “and never known this could happen.” He pushed back just enough to look into Jury's eyes, searching. “Or do I presu--“

He didn't, not at all, and Jury's kiss told him that. The slow, fervent glide of lips, of tongues, imparted volumes that could never be put into words. That never needed to be put into words. If it was the last thing either of them could have expected, it was everything they wanted now.

Hands cradling Plant's face, Jury kissed the corner of his mouth, stroked a finger along one eyebrow. “All I could think of was what nearly happened, how I could have lost you.”

“I'm here,” Plant told him, assured him.

“Yes, you are,” Jury said, hearing a note of wonder in his voice, a smile curving his lips. “What now?” he asked, stroking back through Plant's hair.

Brows drawn together seriously, Plant said, “We could, I suppose, wait for another near death experience to inspire us--“

“But let's not,” Jury finished for him, removing Plant's glasses before leaning in for another kiss.

~*~

Melrose lay, comfortable and warm, tangled in Jury's sheets - in Richard - listening to the gentle drumming of the rain, and Jury's breathing.

Nearly dying in the rain could have been the biggest thing that happened to him today.

This, he decided, shifting slightly and running thoughtful fingers along Jury's chest, was a much better highlight.

Placing a kiss right over Jury's heart, he heard Richard give a soft gasp, felt Richard's fingers snarl in his hair, kneading the nape of his neck. Melrose kissed him again, darting the tip of his tongue against the same spot.

If they lacked a certain degree of experience, some ancient instinct - and winging it - had proved quite satisfying in the initial encounter. As Richard drew him near for a kiss, one leg hooking around Plant's and surging up against him, Melrose believed there was every reason to believe the encore performance would be even better.

Practice, as they said, made perfect, and Melrose anticipated many long and pleasurable lessons ahead.

_~end~_

 


End file.
